their office?"

"I knew their names--I inquired my way--It is all a dream now. Please,
please do not ask me questions. O doctor! do you not see I cannot bear
it?"

He smiled--I never could smile like that under any circumstances--and
softly patted her hand.

"I see it makes you suffer," he acknowledged, "but I must make you
suffer in order to do you any good. If you would tell me all you know
about these rings----"

She passionately turned away her head.

"I might hope to restore you to health and happiness. You know with what
they are associated?"

She made a slight motion.

"And that they are an invaluable clue to the murderer of Mrs. Van
Burnam?"

Another motion.

"How then, my child, did _you_ come to have them?"

Her head, which was rolling to and fro on the pillow, stopped and she
gasped, rather than uttered:

"I was _there_."

He knew this, yet it was terrible to hear it from her lips; she was so
young and had such an air of purity and innocence. But more heartrending
yet was the groan with which she burst forth in another moment, as if
impelled by conscience to unburden herself from some overwhelming load:

"I took them; I could not help it; but I did not keep them; you know
that I did not keep them. I am no thief, doctor; whatever I am, I am no
thief."

"Yes, yes, I see that. But why take them, child? What were you doing in
that house, and whom were you with?"

She threw up her arms, but made no reply.

"Will you not tell?" he urged.

A short silence, then a low "No," evidently wrung from her by the
deepest anguish.

Mr. Gryce heaved a sigh; the struggle was likely to be a more serious
one than he had anticipated.

"Miss Oliver," said he, "more facts are known in relation to this affair
than you imagine. Though unsuspected at first, it has secretly been
proven that the man who accompanied the woman into the house where the
crime took place, was _Franklin_ Van Burnam."

A low gasp from the bed, and that was all.

"You know this to be correct, don't you, Miss Oliver?"

"O must you ask?" She was writhing now, and I thought he must desist out
of pure compassion. But detectives are made out of very stern stuff, and
though he looked sorry he went inexorably on.

"Justice and a sincere desire to help you, force me, my child. Were you
not the woman who entered Mr. Van Burnam's house at midnight with this
man?"

"I entered the house."

"At midnight?"

"Yes."

"And with this man?"